Proud portraits of a doctored page,na shadow cast upon a missing page.nQuaint crafts and artifactsnround well-refined collections.nIn defeat the heads are hung,nin the galleries of shopped retailnthe hollowed eyes of the once defiantnmark the End of The Trail.nnSevered Heads, Severed Headsnrest on the mantel piece in dead display.nnAnd with the cunnning art of seizure,nship the spoils off to Romento please hearts of leisure.nOn walls of Better Homesnsecret histories are told.nIn the stone of stately alabasternstolen heads hold up the throne,nsay servants of their master.nnSevered Heads, Severed Heads...nnTheir culture cuts like knives,nthe modern thought of white design.nI wouldn't say they spared my life.nThey fashion roles to hijack soulsnand label them as their own.nnAnd in the proud halls of Wharton,nthe unspoken rule is knownnthat the wealth of nationsnis the appropriationnof an image as their own.